Stop! Drabble Time!
by Florencexxx
Summary: All sorts of drabbles for all sorts of people! Done by request on Tumblr. If you'd like to request, please review with your request :D ALL PAIRINGS ARE DONE IN THIS :
1. Chapter 1

(Tumblr: Alicetheiceprincess) (PLease send me more prompts!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Homestuck or the beautiful characters in it.

Karkat was, well, a little hardheaded, especially when the conversation turned to finding (and keeping) a "matesprite" (or a partner, as most people put it. Karkat's just weird like that). John had been laying on the hints for the past couple of months now, and yet, nothing. All the little flutters of his hand against Karkat's, the light brushes of his arm against KK's while watching those cheesy romcoms he adored so much, it all went to waste. But not tonight, John decided. Tonight, that would change.

"Are you serious, Egderp? The fucking 'Lion King'?" John nodded, letting his upper lip slide back and expose his slightly bucked teeth in a smile that he knew Karkat couldn't resist.

"Please Karkat? It's one of my favorites..." Tilt the head slightly to the left, give the puppy dog eyes...there. John could practically see Karkat's willpower drain from his eyes as he sighed resignedly.

"Fine, but don't expect me to enjoy this, fuckass." John had to hold back on smiling victoriously.

Thusfar, this had to be the best movie night yet. He got to see Karkat compare the hyenas to different friends of his, got to see him ball his eyes out cutely as Mufasa died, got to hold him back as he shouted angrily at "the stupid overgrown fucking cat with the ugly scar" for tricking Simba and murdering Mufasa, and better yet, got to be the "shoulder to cry on" for the better half of the movie. John glanced down at Karkat, who was still nuzzled in between his neck and his shoulder, and grinned. So far, the plan was going well.

Then, finally, the PIECE DE RESISTANCE was upon them: the falling in love scene that happened to hold the most cheesy, overblown, utterly romantic song ever. He figured Karkat would appreciate the beauty of such a song. Oh yeah, I'm making this happen, John thought as he slowly moved his hand from the area of friendzone to the area of "I wanna make sweet love to you but I'm too afraid to mention it right now so I'm going to subtly move my hand until it is resting on your hip (which has ever-so-conveniently been ridden up to expose the pale skin beneath it. Gogdamn those fashion designers for making snug shirts that fit perfectly on Karkat's body. Curses.)"

Slowly the song started (after the comical assertions of Timon and Puumba) and John prepared to hatch his most diabolically adorable plan ever and snatch up the man of his dreams in a display of dramatic-ness.

Ever so slowly John lowered his mouth to the rim of Karkat's ear, and murmured, "Can't you feel the love tonighttttt?" Karkat instantly froze up, his eyes suddenly fixated on the screen as if his life depended on it, but John saw how his Adam's apple jumped. With a smirk, he continued.

"The peace the evening bringsss?" This time, he added a new trick: rubbing little circles on the exposed flesh of Karkat's hip. John held in a giggle as goose bumps exploded on the said area, leaving Karkat sputtering as a bright red burned his cheeks in the blue tinted glow of the television. When a glare was pointed in his direction, he pretended not to notice. Backing off, he let Karkat think he was safe throughout the whole second verse, waiting until the most opportune moment to strike.

Yet again the chorus came, and yet again, John lazily whispered the lyrics into Karkat's ear, waiting for him to crack.

"Can you feel the l—"

"Yes, Sweet Jebus Egbert I feel the fucking love! Now stop whispering your stupid movie's stupid lyrics into my ear and kiss me, dammit!" John was utterly shocked when Karkat pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss was a little awkward, as they were both virgins of the lips, but John wouldn't have wanted it any other way. It was sweet, and chaste, and loving, and John couldn't wait to steal another. Hmmm, make that two. Or three. They may need all night, actually.

Later on Karkat whacked him upside the head.

"Ow, what the hell Karkat?"

"That's for making me wait, doofus."

Then he kissed him.

"And that's for making the wait worth it."


	2. JohnDave

I _**HIGHLY**_ SUGGEST LISTENING TO REGINA SPEKTOR'S _WALLET _BEFORE READING THIS FICLET! WELL, ENJOY

Today sucked, big time.

First, I woke up at 8:20 AM. And then I realized my class was at 8:00. So, I rushed to get the first clothes I could find on, which consisted of a catsup stained Ghostbusters tee, a pair of dark jeans with the knees worn down to tatters, and accidentally mix-matched Vans (one blue the other yellow). I threw my messenger bag haphazardly across my chest as simultaneously brushed my teeth and readjusted my glasses. Finally, at 8:24, I bursted out of the door to my dorm (hair still a mess, mind you) and with the agility of a ninja, slid down the old, chipped railing of the second story dorm stairs and hopped on to my rickety old rusted blue bike, pedaling for all I was worth to the other side of the school.

Well, today can't get much worse.

"I'm glad you could join us, Mr. Egbert." I cringed as the teacher plopped a Calculus test on my table. Shit! The test was _today?_

To my horror, I was only allowed the period to complete the test, so, as you might've guessed, I only got through the first half of it. Welp, there goes my A-.

Today really can't get much worse, can it?

After I completed the rest of my courses (at about 3PM), I had work. Yay! NOT. All I do at work is lug around giant bags of food like rice, potatoes, and sometimes crates of canned foods. I do this until about 9PM, and (just my luck) the store chose today to restock most of their heavier loads. By the time 9 rolled around, my arms felt a little like jello.

Goddammit. Today's grade is an F.

I was pulled out of my angry thoughts by a crunching sound under my foot. Startled, I snapped my leg back to reveal…a wallet? Yep, a wallet was lying on the floor, some of its contents spewing out of its side. I glared down at it, as if to say, "How dare you get in the way of my walking." As I glared, I considered leaving it there just to get some sort of revenge, but the more I looked at it, the more endearing it was. It looked old and worn out, a faded red color where there most likely was a brilliant ruby. A record, dirty and half unraveled, was woven into the cloth. With a sigh, I leaned down, scooping all of the fallen cards, bills, and receipts back into the old thing before stuffing it in my back pocket and untying my bike from its post.

_Looks like you're coming home with me. _

On the ride home, I couldn't help but get a little excited. _It's like a holy relic…or a mystery novel! _Ialways had had a love of mysteries. So, when I flipped on the dim light to my dorm, I headed straight to my bed, plopping myself down with the piece of someone's life I held in my hand.

"Well, here it goes…" And with that, I began thumbing through the wallet, searching for a clue.

The first thing my fingers found purchase on was a faded Christmas portrait. The family was small, consisting of only two guys (presumably brothers) and a…puppet? The truly bizarre thing about the photo was the sweaters. They had to be the tackiest Christmas sweaters ever known to mankind, not to mention the fact that both guys were wearing pointy sunglasses. In a Christmas photo. And they had **the most** dead serious faces on. I blinked, then looked at it, and blinked harder and looked again. Then, when I realized I wasn't delusional, I cracked up so hard that my sides hurt. What a bizarre family!

The next treasure I fished out was a license. I blinked, looking at the photo. "Dave Strider." He was **so** young, his hair light blonde, and without the ridiculous glasses his eyes seemed to be red. Hm. Plus he had been born in 1993. The same year as me.

I pulled out a battered Blockbuster card, an old stick of juicy fruit, and a crumpled receipt to a GameBro Magazine, an amused grin playing on my face.

_You know, I don't have a wallet "Dave Strider." I keep my cards together with a blue rubber band. Is that weird? _As I snorted at my own antics, I realized that this total stranger just totally turned my day from bad to good, and he didn't have to say anything at all. I lovingly patted the old record. As worn and tired as I was, I found myself beaming down at the little pile of hidden treasures I'd found.

I searched my pocket for a piece of paper, quickly scribbled something down and placed it in with the cards. With a sigh, I slipped all of the treasures back into the faded treasure chest, knowing what to do tomorrow.

The next day, I made a stop by my local Blockbusters, handing the wallet to the guy at the counter. He looked at me with confusion and I handed him the Blockbuster card that was inside of it.

"Do you think you can call this guy up? He lost his wallet." The guy at the cash register nodded, scanning the card and dialing the number listed. I shuffled backwards, slowly exciting the Blockbusters. I was so, **so** tempted to stay, to meet the man behind the wallet, but for whatever reason, I didn't do it. With a sigh, I excited to the parking lot,, feeling a little empty.

You'll never know me, I'll never know you. But you'll be so happy when they call you up.

((Please send me prompts))


	3. 40's JohnTattoo Dave

**Tattoo! Stuck**

I was a pariah. Don't get me wrong, I'm quite used to it by now, but still. Can't people learn to stare _discreetly_?

Hey, how's it hanging? You're probably wondering what the fuck I'm going on about, huh? Well, I'm ranting on the fact that no one in this damn subway can keep their eyes to themselves. Now I know what you're thinkin': Well, of course they can't, Dave, look at how _fine _you are. I know, I know, I'm hot. What can I say: Tattoos turn people on.

That's right, I have tattoos. Lots of 'em. On my arms, my back, my chest, my neck, heck, even my face. Each one is gorgeous, all pieces of some artist's heart inked on to my skin. I may have a slight obsession with them. Just a little one. Fuck, can't a guy have a hobby without getting looks like a rapist or something?

Yeah, I love the inkwork, but other people…not so much. And _forget_ about finding a job. My latest gig would be working Hot Topic in the afternoon and working the turntables at Club Alternia at night. But yeah…because I have some ink on my skin, people bran me as a freak. They give me looks, ones that question if I'm a crook, a gangster, a failure at school, rude, or some sort of heathen of the modern world. It's like I'm a menace or something.

Of course, it doesn't matter to them that I'm currently working on bachelor's degree in funeral services. That I graduated high school with a 4.3 cumulative GPA. That I sometimes write articles for my college's newspaper. That I carry around extra singles for the homeless I see on the way to college. All they see is the ink. Humans are blind sometimes.

I glanced around the grimy, off white subway, accidently making eye contact with a cute young mother. She hurriedly swept her children behind the protection her back offered, and I looked down.

I didn't really look back up until about ten minutes later, when the subway started losing momentum. The intercom crackled to life, signaling the next stop. I glanced around the subway; there was only one seat open: the one next to me. Yet, people still chose to stand in the aisleways. It's always nice to know that people would rather stand than take a seat next to you.

After a few seconds lag, the doors slowly creaked open, allowing for the tsunami of purposeful bodies to overflow on to the platform. Likewise, the subway was flooded with a whole new group of people, and just like before, your seat was avoided like a plague. The doors were about to close again when a straggler ran in, gasping for breath. When he realized he made it in time, a bright grin overtook his lips, bucked teeth slightly showing on his bottom lip. He scoped the crammed compartment, and when he saw the available seat next to me, our eyes met.

Bright blue. He had eyes belonging to the ocean: honest, calm and kind. And when the stare became more intense, I realized that the hatred, the muted prejudice, was not held in their depths. He didn't even blink when he met my maroon eyes and tatted up face.

After the staring contest ended, the boy lugged his messenger bag to the plastic chair and sat in it with a huff. Well Hell, he actually had the balls to do it!

I debated making eye contact and decided against it. I figured he's already been braver than half of these people. So when a hand crossed into my line of vision, my eyes actually went wide. I looked up to find Mr. Ocean Eyes giving me a lopsided smile, a shy dimple making an appearance on his left cheek.

"Top of the morning to ya! I'm John. What's your name?" I looked at his hand, then back into those bright blue eyes, and went for the high five. Except that he grabbed my hand mid-fiving and shook it. What the Hell just happened?

"Uh…I'm Dave." You'd have thunk that you told him he won the lottery by the smile he just gave you. You gulp because holy shit, he's kind of adorable.

"So…what's buzzin, cousin?" You give him a look, nearly cracking up at how seriously he said that. Now that you can really look at him, you scope out his outfit with a raised brow. He was wearing a very nice outfit, a light blue Oxford dress shirt with a pair of freshly pressed black slacks (they were very nicely fitting, you must admit) and a pair of saddle shoes. And black suspenders with a pacific blue bowtie. He looked like some jukebox boy or some shit. A fedora could be seen sticking out of his bag.

"You look like one of those nerd hipsters or something," you comment, looking into his eyes. He blushed brightly, rubbing his arm nervously.

"Uh…well, you see, I'm sort of fuddy-duddy, I mean, old fashioned. I love the 1940's. Like, I'm sort of an eager beaver when it comes to the 40's…yeah…"

You nod in understanding. Heck, look at the amount of tattoos you have. You give him one of your very rare smiles.

"Dude, I totally get it. I have an obsession with tats." You flex your arm a little, bringing his attention to the tattoos decorating your arm. You puff a little in pride when his eyes widen with awe, lightly tracing them with his index finger.

"Hot dog! These are so killer-diller! They are simply beautiful." When your eyes and his meet again, you feel _something_. An urge, a slight current of energy under your skin, but the moment was ruined by the intercom crackling to life, announcing that the next stop was ahead. John pulled back, gathered his goods together, and smiled that heart melting smile of his with that stupid dimple. You can't help but smile back.

"Well, this is where I get off. It was great meeting you, Dave!" The doors open, and Mr. Ocean Eyes leaves, and you watch him until he is lost in the crowd. You look at the empty seat beside you, then a slow smirk spreads over your lips.

No matter what, you will make him yours.


End file.
